


It Just Takes and It Takes and It Takes

by mclov3ly



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Swearing, The Black And White, some antiwar and american speech, tho that's bound and determined to happen with recent starkid shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mclov3ly/pseuds/mclov3ly
Summary: Wiley meets with an old friend.
Relationships: Wilbur Cross/John McNamara
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	It Just Takes and It Takes and It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm absolutely enthralled and surprised by the amount of McNamara/Xander fics, however for some reason Wiley/McNamara grabbed me a bit more. The potential... 
> 
> I won't say I will write more but I have a long plot fic planned for Black Friday, canon divergence and slow burn as always, so who knows babey! Wish me luck!

Wiley pressed his hands into the general's chest. The Black and White was different, different than the normal plane. Here he had more power, thanks to Wiggly's graces of course. And when McNamara had stepped through the portal like a self-righteous savior, he had felt it. The shift in the void.  And when he saw the man was in his military clothing rather than the suit Goodman was wearing, a different thrill ran through him. 

The Black and White was taking him. Taking him apart cell by cell, the general was in immense pain even if he refused to show it. Wiley knew. He was taken apart and put together enough times he doubted he himself was authentic. He shivered at the thought, it made his skin crawl to think about what Wiggly had done to his body when he wasn't conscious.

The general noticed, his eyes flickering across Wiley's face, yet he opted to say nothing. Wiley knew. He knew that the General knew. That the General knew that the Black and White was absorbing him.

"The Black and White," Wiley started, moving his hands up the man's chest and across his shoulders. He kept his eyes glued to McNamara's collarbone, not sure if he could maintain eye contact without doing something brash. Irrational. "It just takes and takes and takes until you don't know what's you and what's Wiggly. You lose your sense of self. Really softens the blow of servitude for life if you want to think about it like that."

Silence. He expected as much, the other man didn't talk much in his unknown time in the Black and White.

"But you should know what that's like, right John?" Wiley met his eyes, not an ounce of fear. What was that like, he had forgotten. "You pledged to the country you call home, you take up arms and you kill without question." His gaze trailed to the edge of the general's face, down his jawline. "Without mercy." He added as an afterthought.

"And then when you think it's all over, the process repeats. We- Humans, Americans, they can't live without war. It's no longer a give and take, it's a problem really. Getting involved in foreign problems and putting your army where it doesn't belong, this place is a good example."

"The nuke you planned to destroy us with- well it just kept going and going and going until." He dug his fingers into McNamara's shoulder. His eyes burned at the thought of being killed, a feeling that hadn't hit him since his entry to the Black and White. "It hit Russia, and started a nuclear fight. The two countries with the biggest fire power, now at war thanks to some fucking green doll."

"Maybe you're not scared of death. Ready to lay down your life for people who are going to die regardless. What's that like? What's it like to not feel anything? Fear of the inevitable? You are **dying** for fucksake!" His voice crackled, static breaking up the last few words as he yelled. 

He didn't know when the tears started, and they definitely weren't because he was upset. Wiley couldn't care less about some army general, but anytime he thought about death and reconstruction and the rebuilding of his body, it got him worked up.

A hand touched his face, thumb brushing under his eye. He flinched. McNamara looked  _ tired.  _ That was the best way to describe it, it was from the Black and White, reclaiming his body to the void.

The kissing was unplanned. 

Nothing about this was planned. The confrontation. The dematerializing. The nuke. But this takes the cake.

He felt the static that the Black and White produced buzz around him, something cold and other-worldly grabbing at him from the darkness to pull him away from the absolute blissful warmth that was McNamara. If you considered the Black and White the ocean, then McNamara was the sun. And that’s when the metaphors should stop.

Hands were in hair, and Wiley was grasping for any skin contact because Jesus Christ, it’d been a while. McNamara’s hand slid down Wiley’s neck, leaving warmth in its path. His other hand pressing into the jean jacket collar.

Wiley's muscle memory kicked in, unzipping the vest McNamara had on. He pressed his hands onto the shirt underneath, feeling the warmth from McNamara's body and his heart beat beneath his fingers. 

“Wilbur,” the name slipped from McNamara’s lips and Wiley froze. He hadn’t heard that name in years, let alone from John himself. He looked into John’s eyes, seeing just how thoroughly exhausted the man was. John reached up and cupped Wilbur’s face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

Wilbur felt the tears pricking at his eyes as he whispered back, “I love you too.”


End file.
